


I Don't Think This House Is Haunted

by lighthouse_in_eventide



Series: Things Not Seen [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon Related, Comfortably Bisexual Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Likes It Rough, Ectoplasm, Face-Fucking, Ghost Hunters, Ghost Sex, Hand Jobs, Human/Monster Romance, Injury, Levitation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Monsterfucking, Orgasm Control, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Restraints, Rough Sex, Scratching, Shameless Smut, Smut, Surprise Sex, Tentacle Monsters, Tentacles, it pronouns for the ghost, sex in the air
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:08:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27930532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lighthouse_in_eventide/pseuds/lighthouse_in_eventide
Summary: Dean's killed a lot of sad ghosts, angry ghosts, murderous ghosts, but a HORNY ghost? This one's new...
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Monster
Series: Things Not Seen [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2045191
Kudos: 33





	I Don't Think This House Is Haunted

Dean sighed as he dropped his bag on the slightly dusty floor. The house was huge, and everything looked about three seconds from collapsing or coming to life with evil intent. Sam stopped next to him, but kept his bag in his hand. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to switch?” Dean asked, looking morosely up at the stained ceiling.

Sam chuckled. “Dean, we agreed in the car. You get the less haunted but grosser main house, and I get to stay overnight in the cleaner but much scarier pool house. Unless you’re scared by the mansion already?”

“No, no, but it’s a big place. What if I’m asleep down here and there’s a ghost doing it’s shit upstairs? I’ll never notice!”

Sam smirked as he left through the back door that led towards the pool house. “Then I guess you won’t get much sleep, huh?”

They didn’t have much to set up, no cameras or EMF detectors like those stupid ghost hunting TV shows, so once they each found somewhere to set their bags and lie down, all there was to do was wait. Taking his flashlight, Dean wandered up the stairs, wincing as the old wooden steps groaned and cracked underneath him. After all the monsters he’d fought, what a shame it would be to die because of some shitty stairs. 

Finally, the steps gave way to a dim landing, with cobwebs hanging from nearly every surface and ceiling corner. Muttering, Dean shoved his way through them and shone the flashlight around in the upstairs rooms. There was a tiny bathroom the size of a closet, a children’s room surprisingly devoid of creepy dolls, and finally what appeared to be a master bedroom. A four poster bed sat forlornly against one wall, the velvety blankets covered in a fine layer of dust. 

Holding his breath, Dean pulled the top blanket from the bed and dumped it on the floor, waving away the dusty cloud that ballooned up from the floor. The blanket underneath was clean, a rich maroon that looked almost brand new. Dean sat down and looked up into the fabric of the canopy, shining his light upwards. So far, no spiders, which was the best thing that could come out of all of this. 

“So, this is where the magic happens, huh?” Dean laughed to himself. “At least, this is where the magic happened a hundred years ago. Probably wasn’t very exciting magic, to be honest.” He pointed the flashlight around the room, looking for any sign of ghostly activity. Picture frames knocked off the wall, ominous scratches on the floor, stuff like that. Nothing caught his eye, so with a sigh, he stood up to go. 

His flashlight flickered briefly, and he frowned, smacking it on the side. It returned to full brightness, and he casted it towards the doorway, only to freeze in place. Standing halfway between him and the doorway was an odd sort of shimmer, a displacement in reality, a vague shape of a person. If Dean was right, it was a ghost. 

He cursed himself for leaving his salt downstairs, and for getting trapped in a room with no exit. The flashlight went dark for another split second, and when it turned on again, the ghost was several inches closer to Dean, its ‘head’ tilted at a slight angle. There was no definition to the edges of the body, and a halo of what could be considered hair floated aimlessly around its head.

Dean backed up quickly, his mind reeling. He told himself he wasn’t scared, he was just surprised, and having trouble coming up with options. Until he noticed the incredibly troublesome fact that he was developing a fear boner. As much as he could with his heart pounding and his eyes wide, Dean grimaced. Exactly what he didn’t need right now. 

The light flickered again, and suddenly the ghost was right in front of Dean. He let out a small involuntary whimper, and was about to call out for Sam (knowing full well he was in an entirely different building) when he noticed something about the ghost. It was mere inches away from Dean, but its face wasn’t looking at his. Its gaze was drawn down, towards the rapidly growing bulge in his jeans.

As Dean tried to think of what to do in the event of horny ghosts, the flashlight went out completely, and dropped from Dean’s frozen fingers onto the floor with a crack. The only light was faint moonlight coming in the window, illuminating the wavering figure of the ghost. Everything else was in complete darkness. Dean felt a creeping chill sliding closer to him, a staticky energy that made his hair stand on end and his pulse race harder, pushing blood into his already straining cock. 

A tendril of cold energy quested around his mouth, and without thinking, Dean parted his lips as if he were about to kiss someone. Was he?? Is this how his night was going, kissing a ghost? His eyes were wide, straining to see anything in the darkness, but now even the wavering form of the ghost seemed to have vanished, leaving the freezing static energy behind. Dean was alone in an abandoned house, and he was kissing a ghost. 

The tendril of energy pushed its way into Dean’s mouth, and he felt another one brush along his neck, making him shiver. The static teased his tongue and pushed its way towards the back of his throat, wrapping gently around his uvula without ever making him feel like gagging. Dean felt his eyes fluttering and his jaw relaxing when suddenly there was the sharp noise of his zipper opening and a much more insistent tendril wrapped around the bulge in his boxers. 

Startled, Dean stumbled backward, away from the embrace, trying to shake out the static that seemed to be infiltrating his mind as well as his mouth. He fought monsters, he killed them, he didn’t do… this. Whatever this was. But his backward stumbling brought him to the edge of the bed, and his knees gave out under him, landing him hard on the soft blankets. 

The ghost was pushing closer to him now, eagerly pressing its cold energy into his mouth, around his neck, and down the front of his boxers. When Dean felt his cock enveloped by that freezing static his eyes rolled a little in his head, and he forgot all his reservations about fucking a ghost. Maybe the world wouldn’t end if he didn’t kill every supernatural being he saw. 

Tentatively, Dean tried to kiss back, and the energy pressing on his lips solidified slightly, although it still felt awfully… tendrily. It felt like his entire body was on pins and needles, but somehow the cold didn’t make him shiver. It brought his blood to the surface to meet the freezing temperature, but Dean felt flashes of heat running through his body as the ghost gripped and stroked and tugged at his cock. 

Reaching out with his hands, Dean felt nothing where the body should be, and he dared to crack an eye open again. His vision had adjusted to the moonlight a little more, and he could see the emptiness of the room quite clearly now. The cognitive dissonance of feeling the rolling, seeking pressure of the ghost but seeing absolutely nothing sent Dean’s mind spiraling, and he let out a small moan. 

A ghastly shriek answered his moan, and his pants shot down to his ankles of their own accord. Two tendrils of energy (they might have been hands?) pushed down on Dean’s shoulders, driving him further onto the bed. He could see up into the bed’s canopy again, although his eyes were barely open now, half-closed against the forceful rocking on his cock. He felt himself getting slippery with precum and sweat, and the static energy made his whole body feel like it was on fire. 

Dean moaned again as the ghost’s energy tightened around his neck and brushed under his shirt. There seemed to be no limit to the amount of tendrils of energy the ghost could extend, certainly more than a person had arms when they were alive. The static started pushing down Dean’s throat, and he felt his body being forced up and over, onto his stomach. The ghost was pushing Dean’s body around like a ragdoll now, and he simply let it. The pleasure of that cold static on his screaming skin was worth being used like a human sex toy. 

Dean’s arms shot out to meet each other behind his back, and all of a sudden his cheek was not resting on the velvet blankets of the four poster bed. The ghost moaned, echoing around the room as Dean’s body began to hover in the air, about six inches above the bed. His head hung down, static still stuffing his throat and encircling his neck, and his arms were rigidly held together behind his back. 

Slowly, while other parts of the ghost’s staticky body were pulsing in Dean’s throat and on his cock, another tendril parted Dean’s legs and brushed against his hole, almost questioningly. Dean let out a strangled noise through the undulating tendrils stretching his jaw, and the cold energy pushed its way into Dean’s ass, causing his entire body to shake against the rigid position it was being kept in. 

Dean felt himself stretch as the ghost pushed itself deeper inside of him, filling him deeper than any physical person could. He gasped around the energy filling his mouth, and had the sudden thought that if both tendrils pushed hard enough, they would meet in the middle and crack him entirely in half. He almost cried at the thought, the static rubbing and pushing and pressing and fucking his entire body felt better than anything he had ever felt before. 

Dean was moaning rhythmically along with the ghost now, their voices mingling in a haunting crescendo as the ghost fucked in and out of Dean’s mouth and his ass separately, while still pulling long fast strokes on his trembling cock. Dean felt a force on his back, and his body was bent slightly as he arched his back at the will of the ghost. The energy fucking him from behind solidified as the lips had done earlier, and Dean cried out as the energy took the shape of a cock, far more massive than anything physically possible, he would bet his life on it. 

The grip on his throat tightened, and as Dean started to see stars, he began to idly wonder if the ghost was ever going to let him come. Almost in answer to that, the strokes on Dean’s cock slowed down slightly, and the ghost transitioned to harder, slower fucking into Dean’s asshole. A force pulled his arms back from behind, and his shoulders and neck lifted to accommodate a deeper rhythmic fuck into his open mouth. Scratches started to appear on Dean’s body as he felt the pounding jar into his bones. Any more of this and he thought he might break apart.

He thought about the two tendrils meeting in the middle of him again, and he knew they had to be close. The ghostly cock slamming into his ass had to be nearing his stomach with how long and deep it was reaching, and the energy on the other side was halfway down his throat by now. Dean could do nothing but make incoherent noises as saliva dangled from his open mouth and an unidentifiable substance coated his ass and dripped onto his cock. 

Finally, after what seemed like years, the ghost howled and switched to grinding its cock all the way into Dean, stretching his mouth even wider and resuming its furious stroking of Dean’s already leaking cock. As the ghost buried itself deeper inside Dean’s body, he felt something bloom inside him, a deep filling wetness that felt like pins and needles and relief, and he finally choked on the tendrils locking his jaw open as he came, spilling himself over invisible hands and down onto the bed below. Dean knew how he looked right now, floating in the air all by himself, ass and jaw stretched as wide as possible, and shuddering as he came out of a stiff cock straining against nothing. The image of that in his mind nearly made him scream along with his orgasm, the thought that he was the only one who knew the full extent of what had happened to him, the only one who was aware of the presence that had fucked him mercilessly and within an inch of his life. 

Dean shuddered and gasped and choked, moaning when he had the air to breath, and finally he could hear past the ringing in his ears, and felt the sudden rush of gravity as he and the ghost fell back onto the bed. The tendrils slowly dragged their way out of Dean’s aching mouth, the cock gave one last deep thrust into him, making him whimper, and then pulled out achingly slowly, leaving him gaping and sticky. 

And then, the presence vanished entirely. The pressure on his throat lifted, and the static enveloping his whole body was suddenly gone. Dean let out a small cry as his whole body relaxed, and he gulped breaths of air like he had forgotten how breathing worked. Weakly, his hand felt its way down to his ass and swiped at some of the mysterious substance the ghost had left behind. As he brought it up to look at it, Dean felt himself fighting hard against a deep drowsiness. Before he fell asleep, he grimaced to himself and thought, _ectoplasm…_

The next morning, Sam and Dean tossed their bags into the Impala and slammed the doors closed. Dean had made sure none of the scratches on his body showed under his shirt, and he had yet to come up with an excuse as to why he wasn’t sleeping downstairs when Sam came to find him.

“I swear, I killed like three ghosts in that pool house last night, and you’re telling me you didn’t even see one?” Sam looked incredulous, as well as tired. 

Dean shifted in the driver’s seat, still feeling the remnants of the ectoplasm deep inside him that he had been unable to get out. He stared out the front windshield as he started the car, determined not to let the color in his face rise. 

“Not a single one, Sammy. I was almost convinced the place was haunted.”


End file.
